


Keeping the Spark Alive

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Agendas, Confrontations, Gen, Motives, Suspicion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28934082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: An alert from Interpol has Peter suspecting Neal was responsible for a series of art swaps from a museum in France during their epic chase. He has no real proof and ponders whether he wants to upset the applecart after almost a year has recently passed with Neal as his CI.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	Keeping the Spark Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Although this is an AU story, the following fiction has a factual basis. I’ll include the link at the end.

An Interpol memo found its way to the New York Office of White Collar, and then wended its way to Peter Burke’s inbox. The gist of the alert was that a small museum in Elne, France, which possessed works dedicated to local artist Etienne Terrus, had discovered that 82 of its 140 paintings were fakes. Art historian, Eric Forcadea, had raised the alarm regarding the works attributed to Terrus, a contemporary of Henri Matisse, when he noticed that some of the buildings featured in the backgrounds had been built after the artist’s death in 1922. Roughly $170,000 had been paid for the phony oil paintings, watercolors and drawings over the past few years, and their value had risen after the dead artist gained popularity with an up and coming new genre of art enthusiasts.

Police had seized the fakes and were trying to trace the forgers and dealers who sold them. Detectives suspected that other museums may also contain large numbers of bogus works attributed to southern French artists.

“We know there have been a lot of forgeries circulating and we believe a well-organized network was behind this,” an unnamed Interpol source related to a news reporter. “This is not something unique in nature. We estimate that at least 20% of paintings owned by major museums across the world may not be the work of purported artists.”

Peter was deep in thought and walked to the door of his office to gaze down to the farthest desk in the bullpen. Then he retraced his steps and opened his bottom desk drawer to pull out a well-worn spiral notebook. It was a chronicle of sorts that he had begun early in his career when he had managed to finagle the case of a very talented artist, thief, forger, and con man. Peter backtracked through the pages containing his own cramped handwriting. Like an obsessive-compulsive stalker, he had tediously jotted down sightings of his quarry by various authorities as Neal Caffrey had trekked his way across Europe leaving a legacy of almost impossible art thefts in his wake. This Interpol memo received today had awakened Peter's gut instinct, and he finally located what had been niggling in his mind. Just as he suspected, some years ago before his capture in the States, Neal had been sighted in southern France near the Spanish border, very, very close to the historic town of Elne. Peter didn’t believe in coincidences.

It took some dedicated effort, but Peter finally obtained the phone number of Eric Forcadea, the art historian, and he placed a call to the gentleman’s office. After introductions were made, Peter congratulated him for his astute eye for detail, which then led to the unfortunate discoveries of the art forgeries.

“It is truly a tragedy,” Forcadea agreed solemnly, “but I have to be honest, Agent Burke, and give credit where it is due. I would most likely have overlooked certain things that I should have seen if I had not been fortuitously forewarned.”

“I don’t follow,” Peter answered.

“Well, you see I had received an anonymous letter from someone advising me to look closely at Terrus’ paintings, especially the background details. It was then that I noted the discrepancies surrounding the buildings in the scenes. As you are probably now aware, that was what you’d call the smoking gun.”

“So, some Good Samaritan just happened to steer you in the right direction, but doesn’t wish to claim any credit,” Peter mused. “That would lead me to believe that this person was somehow involved in the original swap. Maybe now that there’s press telling the world that the originals are out there somewhere, it would greatly increase their value on the underground art market.”

“That is possibly very true,” Focadea replied thoughtfully.

“Any idea who the forger could have been?” Peter asked.

“No, I’m afraid I do not,” was the quick answer.

It was on the tip of Peter’s tongue to offer a suggestion, but then he decided to bide his time and rethink his strategy. What if he told this art historian to use a black light on the paintings to look for a certain person’s initials? What if a certain person’s initials were found? What would that accomplish besides upsetting the fragile balance between two people who were choreographing their dance moves, day by day, trying to get in step?

So many unanswered questions, but Peter had to admit that maybe he was paranoid where Neal and art forgeries were concerned. He could be creating problems where there were none. Now the trick was to find out if his partner had once had a specific larcenous agenda, but Peter didn’t know exactly how to do that without tipping his hand. Finally, a thoughtful man decided to just meet the problem head-on.

Later that evening, Peter made an impromptu drop-in to Neal’s loft and found his CI at his easel. The painting in progress seemed to be an emerging art deco version of the Empire State Building quite visible from his outdoor patio. It always amazed Peter how talented Neal was. He possessed the ability to create any genre of art, and had, most certainly, the skill to emulate any great artist.

Neal glanced at Peter and began cleaning his brush while trying to gauge his visitor’s mood. It wasn’t uncommon for his handler to pop in unexpectedly, but there was usually a motive behind that calculated move. Neal wasn’t wrong because, after Peter accepted the beer Neal handed him, the agent then thrust a piece of paper in the young man’s direction.

“Read this and then we’ll talk,” he growled.

Neal skimmed the Interpol memo and shrugged. “This really isn’t surprising, although I think their estimate of knock-offs hanging in museums is rather on the low side.”

“Why would someone do something like that?” Peter asked quietly, not really surprised when Neal misinterpreted the real meaning behind the question.

“Seriously, Peter? That’s what you want to know?" Neal mocked. "Well, maybe it’s like they say—imitation is the highest form of flattery, and perhaps forgers could be really avid fans of other people’s work.”

“Any other reason?” Peter challenged.

“Okay—in a word, hubris,” Neal conceded. “If someone is talented enough to have art aficionados believe they are looking at a masterwork, that’s a big boost to a forger’s ego. It’s the ultimate con, don’t you think? And of course, there’s also the monetary aspect after the originals are fenced. But before you ask, let me reassure you that I was nowhere near this little town of Elne. If you heard otherwise, then your intel was faulty.”

“But you were in France, Neal. I kept track of your movements during our chase.” Peter thought that was his trump card.

Neal suddenly looked pleased. “Really, Buddy—you tried to follow my meanderings? Wow, that must have been a lot harder back then because I wasn’t wearing a tracking anklet. Now you don’t have to put forth hardly any effort.”

“Like I said, Neal, I know you spent a lot of time in France,” Peter kept pushing.

The con man/artist actually grinned. “And I was gainfully employed during that timeframe. I actually had a job on the janitorial staff at the Louvre.”

When Peter moaned and rolled his eyes, Neal laughed. “Don’t worry, Partner. Mona Lisa and I only had a passing acquaintance and I respectfully returned her smile from afar.”

“Let’s get back to this memo, Neal. What I was referring to is the fact that someone tipped the art historian off so that he was able to recognize a fake when he examined it,” Peter clarified while trailing after his CI out onto the balcony.

Neal looked pensive as he settled his lithe frame onto a chaise and Peter sat in a chair beside him. “Maybe someone needed to feel noticed and wanted a little attention for their perceptiveness,” the young man mused thoughtfully.

Peter was feeling stymied with this conversation, which was not exactly going the way he expected. Was Neal lying to him, even though that was not their dynamic thus far? Did he dare asked a direct question and start a precedent that would lead to a slippery slope? Trying to stall and regroup, he idly picked up a copy of _Cosmopolitan_ sitting on the small wrought iron table between them.

“You reading women’s magazines now?” he snorted.

Neal looked over and smiled. “I think June’s granddaughter, Cindy, left that here. I may have glanced through it, just to gain a lady’s perspective on certain things. It never hurts to take a peek at the other side’s playbook.”

“Gain any insights?” Peter snarked.

“Actually, yes,” Neal admitted. “There was an article that was food for thought. Do you know what the number one complaint is from women regarding their relationships with their significant others?”

“Do tell! I’m quivering in anticipation,” Peter said snidely.

“Don’t be so flippant, Buddy,” Neal chided. “You’re a married man, so maybe you should pay attention.”

“Fine, like I can ever stop you from running your mouth,” a resigned listener complained.

“Yes, well, the number one complaint is not about a spouse’s annoying habits, his sexual technique, or even his sports mania or his drinking. What is most irritating is his lack of interest and allowing an important person in his life to assume they are being taken for granted. Everyone needs to feel valued and appreciated for what they do, so the article went on to advocate taking the bull by the horns and shaking things up by doing the unexpected to win back a certain someone’s attention.”

Peter’s suspicions were rapidly solidifying in his mind, and they didn’t concern Elizabeth. There was spontaneity in their marriage as well as passion, and he never took her for granted. In fact, he thanked his lucky stars every day that she put up with him. However, perhaps another person in his orbit was feeling a bit ignored. And perhaps that person may have done something to _shake things up_ to get Peter’s interested attention. If Neal was responsible for the clue that spearheaded this long ago crime to the forefront, maybe now Peter knew his motive. An impetuous Neal was just bold enough to jeopardize his precarious position at the Bureau and risk going back to prison just so he could get a reaction from Peter. It was an extreme and bizarre measure, but then this was classic Neal Caffrey—impulsive and quixotic, with a penchant for the occasional stupid stunt. But maybe words like reckless, incorrigible, and foolish weren’t exactly the descriptive words a CI wanted to hear. Now a handler felt confident enough to ask the question.

“Neal, were the bogus Terrus paintings hanging in that museum in Elne your work?”

“Nope, definitely not,” Neal answered while looking Peter in the eye.

“That’s really good news,” Peter audibly exhaled. “You know, Buddy, it took a stupendously talented eye to notice those paintings’ discrepancies. Whoever that person is, he seems to be a genius in his field. Maybe I often forget how fortunate I am to have my own talented and greatly valued art prodigy working right here by my side.”

Neal grinned. “Yeah, your resident genius knows his worth, but maybe he still likes to hear a few accolades acknowledging his forte from time to time.”

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind for the future,” Peter said with a wry smile.

**Author's Note:**

> https://nypost.com/2018/04/28/french-museum


End file.
